


The Hour Is Near

by jjtaylor



Category: Babylon 5
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-21
Updated: 2017-08-21
Packaged: 2018-12-18 00:52:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 713
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11863224
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jjtaylor/pseuds/jjtaylor
Summary: Every night, she comes for me. Do you hear her calling?Set during Hour of the Wolf.





	The Hour Is Near

Lyta sits on the very edge of the chair, tense and uncomfortable. Susan is comfortable. She seems like the sort of person who has always been comfortable in these moments of dangerous, all-consuming grief. She touches her fingers to her lips and stares openly at Lyta, who looks at the floor, at the rich rusty orange shawl Susan had dropped there. 

“Touch it,” Susan says, and Lyta startles, and looks up at her with suspicion. “The shawl,” Susan says unnecessarily. Susan didn't scan her, Lyta knows, Susan can't scan. But she knew the moment Lyta thought about touching the scarf and that's almost the same thing. “It’s the softest thing I own. I thought wearing it might help, I don’t know, make things less harsh. It didn't work.”

Lyta picks up the shawl and slides it through her fingers slowly. Susan shivers. Lyta pools the shawl in her lap and meets Susan’s eyes. “It is very soft.”

“It would look good on you,” Susan says. Lyta laughs. It’s the sort of laugh that comes from someone who is only very rarely told that they look good in something. Susan is that not that sort of person, Lyta is certain. “Try it,” Susan says, and Lyta laughs the same laugh again. “Try it,” Susan says, a little more firmly, and Lyta has a strong sense that this is the wrong time to disobey even a vague command from Commander Susan Ivanova and so drapes the shawl over her shoulders as though it were a jacket.

She sits awkwardly, looking up at Susan with arched eyebrows. “How does it look?” she says, not expecting a good answer.

“You don’t wear it over a shirt,” Susan says, and stands gracefully. Lyta bows her head to let Susan slide the shawl from her shoulders but Susan leans down, her hair falling over her face, and undoes the first button of Lyta’s shirt. 

Lyta’s breath catches. She looks up very slowly. She wants to scan Susan, because this could go wrong very quickly and Lyta isn’t sure either of them can take another thing going wrong right now. Susan’s fingers brush the underside of Lyta’s chin and then she undoes the second button and she seems to be inviting the scan. Lyta can feel it, the tug and the push at the same time. Go ahead, Susan seems to be saying. Go ahead and try. “You need to try it on properly,” Susan actually says. “Shawls are meant to go over bare shoulders." 

Lyta undoes the third button herself. Her fingers aren’t even trembling.

Susan undoes the rest, and then slides Lyta’s shirt out from under the shawl. Susan’s fingers are warm and firm as they slide down Lyta’s arms. “There,” Susan says. “Better.”

“It is my color,” Lyta says, arranging the shawl so that it drops low down her back, like she was wearing an evening gown instead of just a bra. The silk is so smooth it tickles her bare skin.

“It’s the color our blood should be,” Susan says, and Lyta tenses. “The color of fire. I always thought it was strange that blood was red. What’s red? What about life is red? But fire – that’s what it feels like is flowing through our veins.”

“Susan,” Lyta says, wondering if she should get up, if she could even get past Susan at this point. Susan’s mind seems to press even closer, taunting her. Susan slides the shawl completely from Lyta’s shoulders, brushes Lyta’s hair back and presses her lips to Lyta’s neck. 

Lyta gasps, and her hands rustle in her lap, rise hesitantly to Susan’s arms, and then settle on Susan’s hips. 

“The wolf sees this color, hears this color, breathes this color. That’s why she comes for me,” Susan says, as she bites Lyta’s neck and then licks slowly up to her ear. “Every night, she comes for me. Do you hear her calling, Lyta? Do you hear her calling my name?”

“Yes,” Lyta whispers, titling her head back as Susan licks across her collarbone and down between her breasts. “I hear her.” And she does. She hears the howl inside of Susan’s throat, as loud as if it were in the room, calling out over and over, calling out both of their names.

**Author's Note:**

> Posted from the dusty LJ archives: written 5-19-2007


End file.
